


Live Bait

by mresundance



Series: Crossing the Threshold [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Emotional Manipulation, FTM Will, M/M, Manipulative Will, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Manipulation, Penetration, Power Play, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" . . . no one else will ever truly know Will the same way Hannibal does." </p><p>Coda for 2x08, "Su-zakana".</p><p>You don't need to read the other stories in this series to understand this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live Bait

The cruel weight of Hannibal's palm against Will's throat and cheek sinks all the way down to the earth. It traps and anchors Will. The adrenaline in his body, red and hissing, ebbs, until there are only Hannibal's dark, dark eyes. The presence of the social worker is dim and distant. 

They must call Jack; they both know that and neither says anything to each other as Will goes to ask Peter if he has a phone of some kind. 

After awhile the FBI arrives in those lumbering black SUV's. The scene is closed, statements taken, and finally, as the stars begin to dim and the night to drain from the sky, Hannibal's hand slithers into the small of Will's back. Will allows him to guide them to the car. 

"I'll drop you off at home," Hannibal says once they're both buckled in. 

Will nods, dully.

"Are you all right Will?" Hannibal asks in that cool, nonplussed way of his. Behind them, the barn and SUVs recede. 

Will nods, then shakes his head. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just take me home," Will says finally, because there is no way to safely answer. 

They don't make it home. Will doesn't even notice the lavender and pale blue shades the sky is turning, nor the black outline of forest burning against the dawn. Barely notices when Hannibal pulls off the main, paved road, and onto a long, bumping dirt road which winds its way through the silent, snowy woods. 

Will knows he _should_ be worried. This is something from a bad horror film: in a car with a serial killer, who is now driving them to some unknown place in the woods. But he feels something else: frantic as bird wings battering against the inside of his rib cage; visceral as the metallic stink of horse blood; urgent and weighty as the gun in his hands. 

Sweet and sickening as Hannibal's voice, his hands, both whispering, whispering to Will. 

Hannibal stops the car in a quiet grove and kills the engine. There are no lights from nearby houses or other cars, no sounds except the breathing of both men.

"Will, I think you need to talk about this," Hannibal says. "You need to process what just happened so you can make it part of yourself."

Will feels Hannibal waiting uneasily. He's not used to waiting, not used to not knowing what other people will do. 

Will's not even sure what he will do, or say. Not until he turns his head, just enough that he can see Hannibal's pale face in the rising dawn. 

"What are you feeling Will?"

Will decides to reach out, reach down into the black and thorny depths, and just grab. 

"Dr. Lecter," Will says carefully. "I think. I-- I want you to fuck me."

Hannibal's face stays in place. Still, Will can see the scuttling -- alarm? -- just below the surface. 

"Why do you say that Will?" 

"You asked if I wanted to talk about it. Well. I don't want to talk about it. Not yet. But I want to -- be close to you, I guess. Share this with you in -- another way."

"And you think having sex with me will accomplish this?"

Will looks at Hannibal, just as he had been forced to do in the barn when Hannibal gripped his face. (He'd babbled like he was love-struck -- and wasn't he? -- in his own way?) But now Will allowed the full impact of his gaze, uncoerced, to bloom between them. 

Hannibal draws a nearly imperceptible breath. But one of anticipation, or anxiety, or fear -- Will cannot tell. 

He waits. 

"While your suggestion is -- tempting," Hannibal says, "it also seems rather reckless. And dangerous."

Will pulls his lips back, stretching and contorting them into what should feel like a smile. 

"But that's the point, isn't it, Dr. Lecter?"

Hannibal smiles, reptilian, and Will forces himself not grimace. But Hannibal doesn't move. He starts talking about irresponsibility. He's trying to maneuver Will. Will sighs, unbuckles his seatbelt, and half throws himself into Hannibal's lap. Hannibal's face is blank but Will thinks he's trying to mask the shock, trying to figure out if he should just kill Will or allow him to put their faces together. Their lips. It's not a kiss, yet, but more of a slow, jostling caress, until Hannibal makes up his mind when he reaches around and grabs the back of Will's head, pressing their faces -- their lips -- together. Hannibal's tongue flickers into Will's mouth. Will's revulsion lasts but a few seconds before he finds himself sinking down, down into that kiss, into Hannibal's soft and warm and almost human lips. Into the feel of their bodies drifting closer, arms and legs and mouths entwining, even as the steering wheel digs into Will's hip. Will's blood roars when Hannibal unbuckles his own seatbelt, and nudges them towards the backseat. 

Will is small enough he crawls over the front seats without much trouble, but Hannibal has to get out of the car and reenter through a back door. These seconds of waiting are frightening in their brevity. It's cold here, especially once Will fumbles out of his coat, and he half assumes Hannibal will just kill him. Then it will be over. There's relief in that. And fear. 

Hannibal settles next to him in the back seat, shutting away the icy, white air outside, shutting them back in the warm half dark of the car. Nearly warm as a womb. 

Hannibal shrugs out of his own coat and begins trailing his fingers along the inside of Will's wrist, then up his forearm, elbow, shoulder. Their lips come together again and this time it's rabid, Will biting Hannibal's lower lip until Hannibal chuckles and tells him not to be too hasty. 

Hannibal wants to savor the dish and the flavors, Will realizes. To be filled with the life of it. But Will isn't interested. 

Will takes Hannibal's hand and presses it against his groin. Hannibal can probably feel the hard bump of Will's erection with this thumb, though he can only guess at the hot wetness pouring from Will's front hole. Of course he does; he smiles again, and Will is entranced as Hannibal unbuttons and unzips his pants, and Hannibal's cool hand glides beneath the band of Will's boxer briefs.

Hannibal had not professed much interest in Will's transexuality after their initial visits, saying only that it took an incredibly strong man to have Will's particular mind, and to navigate the difficult but rewarding waters of transition. Especially in a world which was rigid and unforgiving about such "strangeness".

"I never felt strong about it," Will had said after a moment. "Only weak. And trapped."

"Why did you feel that?" Hannibal asked. 

Will shrugged. "What else was I supposed to feel?"

Hannibal's face seemed to soften in the rare, dim light of his office, but it could have been a trick of Will's memory. 

"It's a gift, Will. Who you are -- your mind, your gender. You should honor that. Nurture it. Cherish it, even."

"There doesn't seem to be much to cherish in a broken mind and broken body," Will snorted. 

"There is everything to cherish about being different. What makes you unique. And strong," Hannibal said. 

And it was the first time Will had actually believed someone when they said that to him. Alana had said something similar, and so had Beverly, but Will had ignored them because they cared about him in their ways, and he had thought they were just being kind because of that. Jack had never said anything verbally, but Will knew Jack admired him in his own reserved and entirely belligerent way. Will never understood that either -- why should a man like Jack, an alpha male -- ever admire a creature like Will Graham, especially on the point of gender? But when Hannibal whispered to Will about his difference and his gift, he began, at first begrudgingly, and then with a sense of wonder and even love for himself, to understand. 

That sense of wonder and self-love had not died in the mental hospital, either. In fact, it had nurtured Will through the barren weeks of his incarnation. It had encouraged him to face other parts of himself that actually were monstrous and hideous. To listen to them, learn from them, learn of himself and learn what he was capable of. After all, if he could defy biology, defy his entire culture, transgress them both and come out relatively unscathed, what was left that he _wasn't_ capable of doing? 

Even if these other parts of himself are monstrous and grotesque, there is still this one part of him that will always be Will Graham: that will always be pure of heart and intent, even if the rest of him is not. His transition, his gender, will always be the one thing he did wholly for himself and no-one else. That continual act of self love was something he held at his center, even as he plotted to have Hannibal killed. Even now, as Hannibal's thumb and forefinger circle and stroke his cock. 

"Do you like that Will?" Hannibal's breath is warm. 

"I'd like it better if you were inside me," Will manages. 

"My fingers?" 

"Your cock."

"I don't have a condom."

Will nearly laughs, because of all the preposterous types of protection to worry about with Hannibal -- that wasn't one of them until a half hour ago. 

"I had a hysterectomy," Will says. "I can't have devilish little -- _ah_ \-- devilish Lecter-Graham spawn. If that's what you're worried about."

Hannibal half smiles. "Unfortunately not," he murmurs. 

"They did all kinds of lab work at the -- hospital. I thought you might -- _ah_ \-- know. I came out -- _oh_. I came out. Clean. _Yes_." He wants to make a joke that dropping the soap in a mental hospital just isn't the same as a dropping the soap in a normal prison anyways -- a really insipid joke that will humor Hannibal just because it is so insipid -- but he forgets.

"You like that didn't you?" Hannibal purrs. 

"Yes," Will pushes his face into Hannibal's chest and inhales the livid scent of him. The fine cologne, the aftershave like silk and smoke, and the faint tang of thyme. It should not be at all alluring, much less comforting. And the fact he is comforted is more discomforting than the reality of what is happening right now, or what has happened in the past between them. 

Will lets Hannibal stroke his cock for a few minutes, feeling warm and alive. Gasps as Hannibal's fingers slide inside him. He is elegant, evil, Will thinks through the haze of orgasms rolling through him like rushing waves in a swollen, flooded river. 

When Hannibal withdraws Will lays, half splayed on the backseat, feeling liquefied by the sensations thrumming through his body. 

"Will?" Hannibal strokes the side of his face. His palm is slack and tender. Not like the hard, half cruel hand in the barn. 

"Mmm?"

"I am glad you're so satisfied," Hannibal says, eyes crinkling. "It's good to see you so . . . relaxed. Finally."

"And not sick and then drugged by you and then in prison because you set me up?" Will slurs the words, but the edge is still there. 

Hannibal frowns. "I did it to protect you," he says. 

Will doesn't want to argue the semantics of Hannibal's version of caring and protectiveness versus what an actual person's version of caring and protectiveness might be. It's a lost cause, anyways, so Will pulls his jeans and boxer briefs off and reaches for Hannibal's belt buckle. 

"Do this for me now, then," Will says lightly, though his throat wants to close up. "Fuck me."

He can feel Hannibal's erection clearly through his pants and it's shockingly -- lovely -- in a way that Will has never found with another man's cock. 

"The last time I was tested I was clean," Hannibal says, and his voice sounds a little uneven to Will. "But --"

"I know you and Alana are sleeping together. I won't use this to turn her against you, if you're worried. I doubt that would turn out well for either us."

"No, it would not."

"But you and Alana are not . . . exclusive?" 

"No," Hannibal seems humored. 

"Then . . . maybe we should let this be one of our secrets, Dr. Lecter," Will says, squeezing Hannibal's cock through his pants. Hannibal unbuckles his belt, unbuttons and unzips his pants, and pushes them down. And Will bends down, tasting the tip of Hannibal's cock. 

"I want to feel you come inside me. I want you to be inside me. To be part of me," Will says, hoping the words sound seductive, and not as forced as they feel. He wants and doesn't want this. Mostly he wants to see what Hannibal will do. So Will bends takes as much of Hannibal's cock into his mouth as he can stand, and is pleased when Hannibal's body tightens and arches. Will sucks on his cock for a few more minutes, using what latent knowledge he has from his clumsy, high school years, and finally just strokes and teases Hannibal with his hands until the other man actually begins to sweat and writhe a little. 

"Please come inside me Dr. Lecter," Will says, pitching his voice in just the way he thinks will make it impossible for Hannibal to refuse. A plea from a helpless man who needed something which only Hannibal Lecter could give.

Hannibal's pupils expand; they are starless, moonless night. Breathtaking. His hands are rough again, as they were in the barn, pushing Will down into the seat. And then one hand around Will's throat.

"Dr. Lecter," he rasps, because anyone else would want a safe word about now, but Will realizes it's too late for that. Too late for that as Hannibal leans down and kisses him. Too late as Hannibal's grip on his throat tightens. Will wonders if he should panic, or if this is some kind of serial killer foreplay. He decides to go with the latter. Though he can only just breathe, he reaches for Hannibal's hip, trying to bring him closer. 

As stars erupt in Will's vision, Hannibal pushes his cock into Will. He's not rough, though, but sinuous, filling Will slowly -- achingly so -- and then pulling back just as slowly.

"Please," Will mouths. 

Hannibal sinks down into Will, quick and hard, and the moan he makes in the back of his throat sounds like both ecstasy and agony. His hand slackens a little around Will's throat, and the flood of blood and air overwhelms Will's body as Hannibal begins fucking in earnest. He manipulates Will's body easily, generously, his strokes hard or slow in the right measure, his hand tightening and loosening at the right moments. Will's helpless; he makes noises and moans when he can, and other times bites his lips and closes his eyes in pleasure, always pleasure. Even when it hurts a little, or it's hard to breath, or he remembers just long enough what Hannibal's done, what he is. Maybe especially when. 

With great relish and relief, Will had stopped sleeping with men after beginning hormones, right before he enrolled in graduate school. Women had always drawn Will, excited him. Men, well meaning as they could be, had done little for Will except flop around on top of him. They had tried to please him, and a few had vaguely succeeded. But none had thrilled or enticed him. He could never see the appeal of other men. Once he transitioned he simply thought of himself as straight. When it worked, it worked with women. Will liked being a man with a woman: enjoyed the contrast of his coarser flesh with her softer skin; the sweep of a women's body and curves, no matter her proportions; the sounds he could elicit from her when as he leaned down and tasted her; the way she might moan as he slid inside her. 

But when Hannibal looks down at Will -- as if Will is the most beautiful, miraculous thing in the entire universe -- Will _is_ enthralled. Hannibal has done what other men, and women, have not for Will Graham. Hannibal masters him -- his mind, his body -- because he understands Will. Loves Will, in his way. And Will is a feast to this disgusting, unique creature. A feast of the mind and spirit, transferred now into a feast of the body. Laid beneath Hannibal, Will feels desired and desirable in ways that shock and excite him. Offering himself, and having Hannibal take that offering, makes him feel harder and wetter than he has ever felt in his life. 

Hannibal's buried in Will, his strokes deep, urgent jabs. Will wraps himself around Hannibal as much as possible, as if they could be sewn from the same skin. 

"Come inside me," Will manages when Hannibal's grip loosens. 

Hannibal finally, almost disappointingly, moves his hand from Will's throat to stroke Will's cock, and Will bellows as he feels his muscles tightening, and Hannibal's breathing gone ragged and out of control, his beautiful, athletic body shaking as he pushes himself into Will -- deep, never deep enough -- and Will feels the hot flood of Hannibal's cum, hears Hannibal groan, and feels the weight of him ease down onto top of him. 

They lie in the back of Hannibal's car, stuck together by cum and sweat. Eventually, the sunlight scythes through the dim interior of the car. And when they untangle themselves from one another, the comforting darkness and silence of night is gone. It's full daylight now, and Will feels exposed even has he puts his underwear, pants, and jacket back on. It takes forever for them to move, and then resettle in the front seats. 

They sit in silence. Will can't help but notice that Hannibal appears impeccable again -- clothes and hair immaculate, inhuman, except for the thin red lines grazing the side of his throat, his shoulder, and which disappear beneath his collar, courtesy of Will's stubby nails. 

Hannibal looks at Will, his gaze glassy, distant. The gaze of a creature who finds most human concerns menial at best. But beneath that Will sees something else. 

"Well, Will," Hannibal says, timbre slightly husky. "You certainly are full of surprises. Not that I am -- objecting."

"Neither am I, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal smiles and it's bewilderingly, openly loving. Not a taint of manipulation or ego. For a moment, Will imagines a life different from this one. Where they are indeed, friends and lovers. And Hannibal is indeed human, though probably still very strange in his way. Much like Will is. And Will comes home to him after a long day in the field, and sinks into the complete comfort and warmth of their sameness and understanding of one another. And Hannibal adores him, feeds him (but normal food, not human flesh), and nurtures him, and cherishes him. And Will surprises Hannibal, intrigues him, interests him, gives himself to him because no one else will ever truly know Will the same way Hannibal does. 

But that life is something that was lost long before they even met, simply because Hannibal is Hannibal and made his choices before he knew Will. 

And Will was -- and sometimes still is -- Will. 

So Will lets that go. 

With a sinking and triumphant feeling as Hannibal turns the car over, Will knows. 

In the barn, Will had wondered who had control between them. Who had the power. 

Now, as they drive away, back to Wolf Trap, Will knows that neither of them have control, or dominate the other. It is equal between them. 

But Will has the advantage. He has the advantage because Hannibal had taken the gun from him in the barn. Because he had frightened Hannibal. Because Hannibal cannot read him. Hannibal had come inside him simply because Will had begged him. 

Now, as they drive away, Will still feels Hannibal inside of him. Feels the quiet power and dread of that.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally just wanted to write a quick porn without plot scene of Hannibal and Will after 2x08. If they hadn't had a sexual relationship before, it seems safe to say the events of 2x08 would be a defining moment when a sexual relationship could easily develop. So clearly it's time for Hannibal to throw Will in the back of his car and ride him like a pony. 
> 
> To be honest, I consider this slightly AU/OOC, given that Will in this story seems a little more rooted and sure of himself than Will in the TV series right now. And Hannibal seems much more in love with Will, and therefore less cautious than he ever, ever should be. 
> 
> However, I found in the process of writing that I was rather disinterested in writing two cisgender men having sex. I've been eyeballs deep a project which deals explicitly with a trans character's desire: his sexuality, his (very active) sex life. And while I was nervous writing explicit trans sexuality at first, I've come to adore it. 
> 
> I think trans eroticism is something that has often been taken from trans people and fetishized or commodified -- packaged to cater to cisgender titillations and curiosities about those weirdo trans people -- and not something trans folk have been allowed to _own_ for themselves. Even in many current, "accepted" trans narratives, I think trans people are encouraged to focus on how "disgusting" sex can be for us because of our bodies being "wrong". I won't quibble with people if their personal experience as a trans person is one of dealing with these things and sex _is_ difficult to navigate as a result. I don't critique individuals here. I'm critiquing a perspective -- perhaps grossly distorted, definitely harmful in a larger context -- which is not only considered an acceptable discourse and narrative for trans people, but which is also becoming a mainstream or common narrative because it endorses the idea that somehow, trans people _are_ lesser than, abhorrent, and that our desires and eroticism must follow suit. 
> 
> So when I was writing this I felt instinctively that I wanted to write Will as FTM partially because of this, and partially because I have no clue what sex is like as a cisgender man. Yeah, I have written those fics before, and I have (hopefully) some empathy and awareness so I can try and imagine that experience to a degree. But my own experiences are as a trans man, and writing about other trans men and their sexuality and sexual experiences helps _me_ to understand, recognize, and acknowledge my desires and experiences as valid. It makes me feel desired, desirable, rather than exploited, or a slab of curiosity served up for consumption. It helps me take ownership of these things. 
> 
> Plus, writing sex between two cisgender men just seemed far less appealing than writing sex from the perspective of a trans man. It's just not as hot to me. Maybe it's because representations of trans eroticism from a trans perspective are so rare as to be nonexistent, so it feeds many of my needs. Maybe it's because I just have no context for cis on cis action, especially as I explore and embrace my own sexuality and desires. 
> 
> This should not be seen as a "knock" on cisgender folks, either. It's more just that I want to explore trans desire and sexuality more, since it remains very underexplored and/or ignored. 
> 
> And that's how all this stuff got into this fic which was just supposed to be mindless and hot PWP. LOL.


End file.
